


and I kept running for a soft place to fall

by sheswanderlust



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, overtraining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 09:56:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21034385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheswanderlust/pseuds/sheswanderlust
Summary: It felt good, it felt right, it felt tidy and controlled and regular. It kept the storm at bay and distracted his mind from that hell of a typhoon inflating in front of his eyes. He could reach 15 km and then maybe stop. He wasn’t so tired anyway.





	and I kept running for a soft place to fall

**Author's Note:**

> Set on the Friday night of Suzuka GP 2019, inspired by the typhoon and by Daniel talking about sake bombs. Because this pairing deserves more fics and that's my mission.  
The title is a lyric from Runaway by Aurora.   
English is not my first language so sorry for the mistakes.   
Disclaimer: as usual nothing is true, I don't know the drivers and their personal life, this is only a product of my fantasy.

It always started like this, with his mind suddenly becoming hyperaware of his surroundings. The damp material of the jacket suffocating his skin, the bright red texture making it impossible not to be recognized; some droplets of rain sliding down his neck; the hands of the most audacious fans invading his personal space on the way to the hotel; the voices of his staff chatting about something he couldn’t really grasp, and asking for his opinion every time he almost managed to draw a breath and find some calm in his mind; the way his hands hadn’t stopped fidgeting for the whole day, clinging at the hem of his jacket, playing with the wire of his radio, so relentless that Andrea had to block him more than once.

It always started like this and always ended like this, with the rhythmic sound of his feet on the treadmill, the red digits on the monitor indicating the distance ran growing. Charles clung at the reassuring feeling that he got from it, trying his best to ignore the gloomy view in front of him, the lights of the skyscrapers dim in the dark evening, the gushes of wind sweeping the rain against the windows of the hotel gym, the drops tapping with threatening violence against the glass and then trembling down, leaving a blurred trace behind.

The red numbers switched to 9.7 km.

He felt the complacent satisfaction of the 10 km landmark approaching, and then immediately afterwards the adrenaline rush of knowing that he could push his sore muscles a bit more. He looked as the digits on the treadmill monitor reached 10 and kept running, a deep self-appreciation as the number steadily grew. He touched the arrow button to increase the incline, feeling the change under his feet, his tired legs burning and adjusting to the uphill run he was making them go through. It felt good, it felt right, it felt tidy and controlled and regular. It kept the storm at bay and distracted his mind from that hell of a typhoon inflating in front of his eyes. He could reach 15 km and then maybe stop. He wasn’t so tired anyway.

Daniel had never been the kind of person who doesn’t know how to interact with other people. Damn, the whole paddock knew this. His positive, extrovert and somehow over-the-top attitude had always helped him in that area: he bonded quickly with others, deepened the relationship with the ease of a laugh, and effortlessly became the one others gravitated around. He was good with people, it had always been one of his strong points.

Then Charles came, soft hair and thin legs and those ghostly melancholic eyes that he sometimes still had troubles to properly meet. Charles came and Daniel honest to god did not know what to do.

He stopped in his tracks as soon as he caught sight of his silhouette while walking past the gym. He debated for a minute, trying to untangle the messed-up wires of their relationship, unsure if going in was a good idea.

He went in.

The gym was silent, exception made for Charles’s regular run on the treadmill and the rain hitting the window that looked upon Suzuka. He reached the younger driver, unnoticed. The Monegasque’s eyes were fixed on the treadmill monitor, the number indicating the kilometres he had ran growing steadily. _16.5_. Daniel frowned, doubtful that it was sensible to fit in a long run after the already stressful and physically rough day they had just had. He moved closer and Charles noticed him. He kept running without saying a word.

Silence. The digits on the monitor reached 17 km and went past it. Charles kept running.

It was Daniel who spoke, of course.

«Isn’t it enough for today?»

«I can run a bit more» was the breathless answer he got.

Silence again. The rhythmic sound of Charles’s white Adidas on the treadmill. The rain against the window. The tracker reaching 17.7 km.

«Does your trainer know you’re here?»

Charles didn’t answer. Daniel knew what it meant. He let him go on for a while, his eyes probing his condition. Scarlet cheeks on the otherwise too pale skin, the way his chest heaved for air, the rhythm of his run faltering almost imperceptibly under the weight of his exhaustion.

Daniel pressed the _stop_ button on the treadmill display. It earned him a burning stare from Charles. He didn’t divert his eyes as the younger driver slowed his pace along with the running belt and then stopped. He didn’t step off it, though.

Daniel didn’t miss the way Charles supported himself on the treadmill rail, nor his shivering hands and his unfocused eyes. He repressed the urge to touch him.

«Are you ok?»

The Monegasque fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. It took him a minute to answer.

«Yeah»

He refused to meet Daniel’s stare, focusing instead on the monitor while still trying to catch his breath. The red digits signalling the distance he had just ran were still there, a bright red 18.3. Just a bit short of 20. Daniel noticed the frustration in the Ferrari driver’s eyes, the way he bit his lower lip hard, his hand gripping the rail stronger.

«Hey»

This time Charles looked at him. The pain he read in his eyes had an apathetic quality and Daniel had the feeling that if faced with death, the Monegasque wouldn’t brake.

It scared the shit out of him.

He opened his mouth to speak – to ask Charles why he was running himself to exhaustion on a Friday night, why his hips had felt so frail under his hands that night in Vegas, why he couldn’t take off that damned picture-perfect façade he hid himself behind, the hero who survived, the golden boy who did not fell, especially when it was clear that he _did_ fell, somewhere along the way. Those words did not escape his lips.

«Let’s get out of here» he said instead.

Daniel was not completely sure that going out with a typhoon building upon their heads was a good idea. Then again, rational and sensible decision-making had never been his thing, and he didn’t have any intention to start today, on a stormy night in Suzuka, a drained Charles Leclerc standing beside him in the hotel’s entrance hall.

When the cab stopped outside of the building Daniel pulled his hood up, Charles doing the same with his own black jacket. It felt weird to see him not wearing red. They went out, half running the few meters that separated them from the car, and Daniel instinctively put his arm around Charles’s shoulders, keeping him close in a useless attempt to shelter him from the heavy rain. He lost himself for a second in the sudden, uncomplicated intimacy between them, flashes of that summer night blazing in front of his eyes. Dark hair on white, silken sheets, Charles’s drunk, ocean irises challenging Daniel to ravage him.

The car door closed with a thump.

Daniel gave the address to the driver and shifted in his seat. Charles was silent beside him, as he had been since he had meekly agreed to go out with the Aussie, his fingers absent-mindedly playing with a hole in his designer ripped jeans. He was staring at the windshield without seeing it – it was something that Daniel had noticed about him, the way his eyes always seemed to be looking at some invisible being, a translucent film on them. That was the deal with Charles – he was only partly present, half his mind wandering in some other places where no one could follow him. Daniel felt the burning need to have him whole, body and mind and uncompromised attention.

He barely restrained himself from calling his name. Instead he settled for silence.

The bar was cosy, a secluded space away from the chaos of the city. Located in the basement of an old building, the delabré walls and wooden seats were dimly lit by art déco chandeliers. The weak light let a dark aura spread around the room. The unnerving sound of the rain was absent – a blessing for Charles’s mind.

He toyed with the empty sake glass in front of him, smiling faintly while Daniel narrated how he had discovered that bar some years before, a story that involved a drunk Kimi Raikkonen and the usual fight between Lewis and Nico. He was pointedly pouring his usual playfulness on him, as if trying to warm him up. His dark stubble was back, contouring the sides of his face with a rough edge.

It had been two months and Charles could still feel it burning against his cheeks.

He did not remember much about that night in Vegas, the loss of memory owing to the too-high number of shots he had gulped, Daniel’s laughter in his ears somehow louder than the club’s deafening music. The chronological sequence of his actions was missing – all he could remember was a burred supercut. Daniel dragging him to dance, taking the centre of the floor like the stage they deserved, in their veins the invincible rush of the longest nights. The assertive grip of the Aussie’s hands on his hips, the arousal of knowing that it would bruise. His back hitting hard the wall of the hotel’s corridor while they kissed, unable to wait until Daniel’s room, all messy and hot and drunk. It had been a fight for control – Charles driving him crazy and then revelling in the unabridged feeling of being powerless with the other man on top of him. That was what he loved – a narcissistic hide-and-seek, a self-complacent hunt that ended with his own surrender.

The feelings were still there, yet the whole holiday felt like a lifetime ago, a memory of sunny days lost in the suffocating chaos of the last weeks. Charles had been keeping up on autopilot for so long that he couldn’t even begin to dissect everything that had happened since the summer break.

He felt a warm hand gripping his freezing one.

«You’re spacing out»

Daniel was looking at him with attention, his eyes tinged with concern. Charles didn’t know how to feel about the other driver worrying about him. It felt suffocating, as if he were an animal caged in a too-small cage – and at the same time Daniel’s hand was so warm around his, fingers pressing gently on his palm. He resisted the _I’m fine_ already on his lips. 

«I may need another round of shots» he said instead, his voice as uncertain as he felt right now, Daniel’s presence making it hard for him to understand himself.

But maybe it was the sake.

The soft light caressed Charles’s profile, making him look even more like one of those marble statues you would expect to find in a museum, not in a downtown bar and surely not in a crowded paddock. Daniel had always seen him that way, beautiful in a way hard to grasp, all sheer perfection and gracious movements, an artfully crafted aloofness tinged by the sadness in his eyes, the only feeling he would let seep out of his shell. Far from being a blemish, it suited him and made him look even more ethereal and out of reach.

Daniel had always known there was something more – he of all the people could not fall for Charles’s recital. He did remember all too well the fifteen-year-old Monegasque he had met what felt like too many summers ago, all carefree and bouncy in the backseat of the car, while Jules drove along the French coastline; the same one who two years later had shattered on the day of the funeral; the same one who had arrived to the paddock with the status of golden boy already written on his face, surrounded by a hype Daniel had never seen for a rookie, whispers about an insane talent and a too-heavy past weighing down his thin shoulders.

No, Daniel could not fell for it, yet he had not expected _this_.

He wondered if it was always like that for him, the unfocused eyes, the anxious fidgeting, running himself to exhaustion, or if it was only Suzuka.

He looked as Charles downed his sake shot and asked himself for a moment if he was being an idiot, taking him out and making him get drunk when he was clearly distressed. He felt a tug of _big-brother-protectiveness_, a remainder of the years when the Monegasque was only his friend’s little brother.

Years had passed, though, Charles wasn’t the young kid running behind Jules anymore, and their relationship had tangled up to a level that Daniel did not think possible.

He downed his shot, thinking about how to tackle the topic. He opted for honesty. 

«It’s heavy to be here. I think about him a lot.»

He had hoped that saying it out loud would make him feel a bit better. It didn’t. He forced down the lump in his throat, memories of laughter and late nights and never-achieved dreams. Those dreams had felt soft and warm on their minds when they talked about them, the podiums and the wins and the golden glory, a future there to be seized. They had never doubted they would reach the summit. There was something foolish in that level of self-assurance, and at the same time Daniel would pay to go back to those impossible dreams, not touched by disillusion, not touched by failure, not touched by death.

Charles didn’t answer, his gaze fixed on the empty glasses on the table, his hands again fidgeting with the sleeves of the grey oversized hoodie he was wearing, his thumb repeatedly poking at the cotton. 

«It feels like a whole other life»

He didn’t need to specify when the other life had ended and when the new, more painful one had begun.

Charles nodded.

They remained in silence for a while, the grief of the memories they shared heaving on them like the typhoon raging outside. 

«I feel like I haven’t been breathing since we landed in Japan»

Charles’s voice was a whisper when he spoke, and Daniel had the impression that the younger driver had to force out the words, too used to bottle up everything and sort it out by himself. If the unhealthy coping mechanisms he had had a taste of just before could be called _sorting out_.

«It seems like everyone just went on with their lives. I mean they remember him obviously but…» Daniel didn’t end the sentence, shrugging his shoulders.

Charles drew a long breath, a little _yeah_ escaping his lips.

«It’s always hard, but here is – _harder_» he said then, elbows on the table, running one hand through his hair tiredly. «I cannot even sleep properly, doing the usual stuff feels ten times harder and I just… cannot keep him out of my mind»

«It couldn’t be any way different. I know we are professionals and we have to perform, but sometimes it’s fine not to be fine»

«No it’s not»

Daniel was taken aback by the utter determination in Charles’s voice. Behind the pain and the exhaustion and the alcohol, he could see the fire in his eyes. It felt fascinating and dangerous. He projected it on himself and wondered if that was what he lacked – the raging desire to always be ready, always give his best, regardless of the excruciating pain he could feel inside. He could see it in Charles, he always had, yet he doubted that it could be called healthy. Maybe being a winner did not mean being healthy.

«Then at least talk with someone. When you cannot keep it together anymore – just go to Andrea, or Pierre, or…» Daniel stopped himself before saying _me_, suddenly unsure if their relationship was to be considered deep enough to be added to the list. Charles did understand what he wasn’t saying, though.

«I am here, talking with you» he replied, and the Aussie felt a rush of blood to his face at the implication. He tried to ignore it, not wanting to let the matter rest.

«Yeah, after draining yourself on the treadmill. What would have you done, hadn’t I come? Running until you blacked out?»

His tone had an angry thickness, now. He couldn’t help it, the idea of Charles doing this to himself unbearable. It was weird – he had almost ignored him for his whole rookie season, unable to bond with him without thinking about their old common friend. Then a sparkle, easy chatting in the paddock, and a fire, a huge and dangerous fire, that night in Vegas, and here he was now, trying to shield Charles from his own self-destructive tendencies.

The Monegasque just looked at him, his usually emotionless façade unable to hide the surprise.

«Talking doesn’t come very easily to me» he spoke after a while.

Daniel understood this. It felt very distant from his personality, but to Charles control and order seemed paramount. He could see it in his unshakeable focus on racing, in the way he analysed again and again all the data he was given, in his devotion to training. And in how he crumbled when everything was rescheduled and postponed, just like that weekend.

«I know. I’m just worried about you» to say those words took Daniel more strength that he would like to admit.

Charles did not answer.

Charles felt relief at being imprisoned like he was in that moment, Daniel’s weight pinning him to the bed, his hands assertive against his hips while he moved inside, his thrusts strong and demanding and possessive, nothing like the usual playfulness and goofiness that characterized him outside of the bedroom. The older driver’s eyes were darker, there, and they hadn’t left his since they had stumbled on the bed, checking every change of expression, drinking in the way Charles moaned under him.

He arched his back when Daniel hit his prostate, feeling the air being kicked out of his lungs, his nails digging in the shoulders of the Australian and grabbing his hair while he came down to bite his neck.

More signs, more bruises, Charles already knew his hips were going to be covered by purple dots, and it sent a shiver to his spine. Daniel seemed to read his mind and bit harder on his neck, his lips hovering on his pulse, teeth threatening on his carotid. 

There was something soothing in that almost violent dance between them, in the way Daniel manhandled his body, somehow knowing that Charles wanted, no _needed_ to be ravaged like that. The roughness of it grounded him, blocking his mind in the present moment, in the _now_ he was living. Driving was the only other thing that had that effect on him.

The rain was getting worse outside, thunders and wind blending in a continuous roar, and Daniel moved inside him harsher.

Charles just let himself _be_.


End file.
